Wardrobe Malfunction

Because none of my outfits screamed glamour. Mostly because they’re too busy screaming, “hey, who knew that Laura Ashley was still in business?!”

I quickly realized that I needed a new outfit. The only problem is that I’m taking this whole credit downgrading seriously, especially since Husbandrinka confiscated my credit cards in celebration. Since I’m not buying clothes these days, I was left with two choices: Stealing or Borrowing.

Sadly, I had to eliminate stealing, because according to the internet, you need a catsuit and also burglary tools before proceeding. Which I’d have to buy.

Look, if I had money to buy that stuff, why couldn’t I just buy a dress for Russian Dolls premiere? On the other hand, the burglary tools and catsuit would be an investment, and I could go on a huge stealing spree after I stole the dress. But eh, it seems like too much of a commitment. I’m more interested in dabbling in crime than becoming a professional. I just don’t have the ambition.

Where was I?

Yes. Stealing. I mean, borrowing.

I decided to borrow a dress.

First thing I had to do was make a list of friends who live in NYC that I could borrow a dress from. This list looked like this:

John

Ines

For reasons too complicated to explain in a blog post, I eliminated John.

So Ines was the winner. The benefit to that was that Ines lives two buildings away from me, and just like Sarah Palin and Russia, I can see Ines’ apartment from mine.

Hi, I emailed Ines, I got invited to a fancy event and I need to wear a fancy outfit and the only fancy thing I have is my wedding dress and I can’t wear my wedding dress because I don’t want people to think that I’m insane and also because it no longer fits. By the way, are you still in New York? Did you go away for the summer. As you friend, I want to know these things, and of course, anything else that you want to tell me. XOX, Your Friend, Marinka

Clearly moved by my evocation of friendship, Ines emailed back a mere twelve hours later and invited me over, telling me that she had an elegant number that she thought would fit me because it is from stretchy material and also shoulderless.

Because apparently Ines thinks I’m the new Brett Favre or something. I’m telling you, it’s comments like this that’ll keep Ines on friendship probation. Once I return the dress to her, that is. And assuming that I don’t need to borrow anything else.

So we made a date for me to come over and pillage her closet.

“This whole thing doesn’t make sense,” Husbandrinka said. Something about what makes me think that I can fit into Ines’ clothes.

Like Caesar before me, I went, I tried on, I borrowed.

The dress is beautiful. I will, of course, have to wear compression undergarments,and not inhale too deeply, but I think that’s a small sacrifice. I’m also worried that I will stretch out the dress so much that all of Ines’ extended family will be able to wear it simultaneously with her. But on the other hand, what outfit is totally problem-free?

And then as I was leaving, Ines handed me this:

Because in NYC, we borrow pearls from neighbors, not cups of sugar.

What? We’re on a diet!

_____________________
Thank you for weighing in on who my Plus One at the Premiere should be. After counting and re-counting, Papa was the winner. Husbandrinka is, of course, devastated, but he’s pulling himself together.

I will try to tweet as much as possible during the event. And Vicki will be Live-blogging on Thursday at 10:30, so definitely watch. Because I can’t wait to discuss this at length. (I’m already traumatized because the grandmother and I are roughly the same age. Seriously, What. The. Fuck.)

I never seem to have appropriate shoes, which is odd, because I spend a great deal of money on shoes. Lucky, I have two friends whose feet are as big as my own, and who live close enough to share whenever I’m facing a footwear emergency.

I have a good friend who has always been a bit bigger than me but who has always been able to pull off simply fantastic outfits that I wouldn’t dare wear. I’ve lost a bunch of weight since January and had to buy a new dress for my mom’s wedding. Afterwards, my friend asked if she could borrow it. I said yes, but totally swallowed my foot when I told her it was stretchy and should fit, and a few other less flattering phrases that I’m too embarrassed to remember. I didn’t even realize until later that day how incredibly hurtful my words probably were. I haven’t dared to bring it up with her since. So I’m apologizing to you for Husbandrinka’s insensitive comments. Sometimes smart people say incredibly dumb things. And sometimes people just say dumb things. Sorry. My bad.

I just turned 30, and a classmate of mine became a grandma about 6 months ago. We didn’t grow up in the sticks, nor do we live in inner city. A nice, quiet middle to upper middle class suburb. She’s SO proud. Frightening.

Thank you for your willingness to wear compression garments in the line of duty. Tis a far, far braver thing you do….all for the sake of a blogging front-line report. The last time I tried to put on some kind of spanx-thingy, the damn thing went shooting out of my hands, ricocheted across the room, and almost knocked over a lamp. True story. Too afraid to try again, I just hauled up my (regular, non compression) undies and went, squashy and jiggling, to the party. One more sartorial point: does Papa have blinding white sneakers to wear with his (velour?) track suit?

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Blasts From the Past!

“Hey mom,” my son told me the other day, “I’m going to be a tiger in the class play.” “Roar!” I said, before I remembered that he was 13 and not 4. And then he told me that he was going to wear his sister’s tiger costume and I congratulated […]